The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, waterlogged papers and books spill out of a shattered, antique safe lodged in the roots of a giant, fallen sequoia tree. The air's heavy with the smell of damp earth and decaying wood, with an electric charge making the fine hairs on nearby ferns stand upright... the pale sunlight filtering through the forest canopy casts long, emerald-green shadows across the forest floor. Like, the tree's massive trunk appears to be slowly, silently unraveling its own wood fibers, thread by thread, into a sprawling network of glistening, silver-white tendrils.